


Broken

by Tazmosis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 00:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tazmosis/pseuds/Tazmosis
Summary: How much can one person take before they crack?





	Broken

                            "Eleven forty five, that's a good time for me, almost lunch time." Chris thought with an inward smile.  For the last seven years, Noon meant lunch time.  Lunch with Marjorie.  Chris felt pretty lucky, most days.  He had a well paying job at a law firm with prospects of moving up the ranks, an apartment that he could actually see from his almost corner windowed office, and a fiancé in that apartment that, he felt, completed the part of his life that made him happy.

               

                For the last seven years, since he moved from the countryside, Chris has toiled to become an accomplished paralegal and investigative researcher for the Milne firm and for three or so of years, he'd felt lucky to be one half of Marjorie and Chris, the less than powerful, power couple of their working class piers.  Everything was coming up Chris.

               

                As luck would have it, it was only nine thirty on a Wednesday morning.  Wednesday was what that the annoyingly chirpy woman at receptionist desk referred to as 'Hump day'.  Chris was stoic about that, every garden needed a bit of rain.  But, on a Wednesday morning at nine thirty, Chris got an E-mail in from Mr. Walter.  "Chris, stop by my office before lunch.”  That was when the avalanche began.  Chris had, what he would consider to be, an insultingly short discussion about his future with the Milne firm.  Mr. Walter couched it as a 'Business decision', but Chris knew it to be a vendetta for not 'playing ball' when the bosses wanted to adjust the facts to match the narrative they needed.  According to Mr. Walter, Chris needed to 'think creatively' to make things match up.

               

                So, at Nine Forty Five on a morning that was, no longer, considered 'Hump day', Chris walked the two blocks to his apartment he shared with the love of his life.  For those two blocks his box got heavy and got heavier; the product of seven years, barely filled this little box.  Not 20 minutes before hand, that box only held reams of printer paper and potential.  Now this was all Chris has for seven years of struggle.

               

                As he slowly stepped up the sidewalk, he saw the oddest thing.  It was Marjorie's car, with a trailer attached pulling away from the building.  He and Marjorie had lived at apartment number two west of the Holloway building.  Dropping his box, he ran to the car and banged on the passenger window, but she didn't seem to see him, she just looked straight ahead.  Like she didn't hear the sound.  Like she didn't know.  Like she just left.

               

                He'd met Marjorie about four years earlier.  She'd been the brilliant, burning meteor that crashed into his dull landscape.  She was everything he wasn't, everything he needed, everything he loved and everything that drove him mad.  She was Marjorie; he was blond, she had long jet black hair.  He had pale milk skin, her's was a bronze that glowed in the sun.  He was timid and reserved, she was the reason that he spoke with strangers.  He was slender and gaunt, she had curves and beauty.  And now, she was gone.  She was gone.  She was just gone.

 

                Chris did, the only thing he could do, hope, hope and try to go home and figure this out.  Walking down the dark old hallway, he absently noted that there was an excessive amount of shadows, brown paint and grimness in the walk to his apartment, something he hadn't caught before.  Then he got to the note tacked to his door.  'Eviction, for lack of payment.’  This didn't make sense; he's been giving Marjorie ample money for months to cover expenses.  She said she was handling the finances while she was hunting for a new job.  She'd promised.

               

                He slid his key into the lock and was slightly surprised to find that it actually worked.  The place was bare; no not bare, barren.  She's taken everything.  They'd spent months shopping for sofas, dinning sets, tableware and everything that makes a home, a home.  It was all gone.  The living room was empty.  The bathroom was empty, not even the soap remained.  Closet doors hung open and the bedroom was desolate.  The window hung open and the sharp breeze cut through, even the curtains were gone, no longer any protection from the cold.  He walked into the kitchen, what had been _their_ kitchen.  They'd cooked dinners, fantastic meals, for their friends, for each other and for the fun of cooking.  They'd loved in that kitchen, everything, and each other, but now that kitchen was empty, almost.

 

                Sitting on the counter was a worn old wooden crate, one that'd he'd spent most of his life with; and note.   He pulled the note out of the box, it read "I'm only leaving these because I always thought they were worthless.  M. ps. Look in the box."  Chris looked and he saw several familiar items.  Several stuffed animals; a bear, pig, kangaroo, donkey, owl, rabbit and a tiger.  He knew these things, they'd been part of his childhood, before he'd put them away; before Marjorie.  He saw his childhood friends, and he saw the first thing he and Marjorie had every bought together; a kitchen knife.  It wasn't a particularly special object, that kitchen knife, but when they made their first purchase they held hands when they did.  Marjorie, at least, remembered that, they'd made the pact that if one left, the other would be left with the knife.

 

                There was a bench outside, he couldn't stay here, not here.  Chris put his key on the empty countertop, picked up his box and closed the door on his life.  This time, for the last time.  This time leaving meant that he didn't have the joy of anticipating coming home to Marjorie.  Now even thinking her name hurt, it wasn't like that yesterday.  Now everything was different.  Chris sat on the bench with his head in his hands.

 

                After several hazy hours, Chris began to piece together what was happening.  It took him several minutes to identity his surroundings, but it was a park.  He sat leaning up against the trunk of a strong old oak tree, on what he thought was a blustery day.   When he left his apartment, it was barely 11 am but now, it was almost dark and in a different part of town.  Chris looked and saw a few bottles of heavy drink and began to try to figure out what had happened.  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, then heard a familiar voice.

 

                "Hello Chris.  Do you remember me?  We used to play in the woods together."

                Chris thought back, painfully.  "Speak up, you've always been too soft. Say what's on your mind?"

                Another voice joined in "You can make them eat thistles, that's what they like bestest."

                "Chris, it's been a long time since you needed us." replied the first voice.

                Chris spoke, “Hello Mr. Bear, what are you doing here?  I thought you'd left me.  I couldn't find you anymore after I got sent to live with Mr. and Mrs. Simmons.  They told me that I didn't need you, that you aren't real.

                Chuckling that familiar chuckle that Chris has known is his youth, "I've always been here for you.  I'm sorry they hurt you.  I wished you'd have asked for me to help you.  I wanted to, but I couldn’t until you did."  "Do you want up to help you now?”

 

                Chris started hearing whispers again. 

                "We want to help you.” that was soft, gentle, motherly voice of the kangaroo.

                "You're a smart one, you can figure out how to fix this.”   Chris remembered the wise voice of his owl as a kindly old professor.

                "We don't need to do anything rash, let's think about this".  That was his conscience, his old conscience.  A little piglet that told him right from wrong.

                "We can't just do nothing, we have to do something."  Came spilling out in the jittery voice of his old rabbit companion. "Hush pig, we have to do something."

                Chris jerked his head around.  That old voice was whispering in his left ear.  "We can make them eat thistles, that's what I like best".  Chris opened his eyes, to see the striped maw of his stuffed tiger pal.  This wasn't the tiger he knew though.  This tiger looked angry, even vengeful. 

 

                Chris finally looked around him and see those familiar faces from his youth, but they weren't the faces he remembered.  Those faces were kind and loving, these were not.  These were cold and grim.

               

                "Do you want us to help you, Christopher Robin?”  That was the voice if his best friend, his bear, the bear he clung too.  "You need to answer us, do you want our help?"

                "I think so, I don't think I can do this alone".

                Chris looked down and saw the bear was offering him the kitchen knife.  "That's why we're here."  Chris took the knife and walked off into the deep shadows of park, listening to the voices telling him things.

            It was a cold morning, Chris noticed, he supposed it was morning anyways, he hadn't been keeping track,  the last, however many, days have run together.  He started with what he knew, the weather turned, it was cold and he was hungry.  He looked around and saw that he'd found a sheltered corner to sleep in.  It was all so hard now.  He didn't have his job, he didn't have their home and he didn't have... her.  He looked around and found that he was in an alley, tucked into a corner between a few trash cans.  Nothing made sense right now, but he had his box, he had his friends, it would be ok.  He reached up and rubbed his chin,  he felt a short scruffy beard, not something he usually wore, she liked him clean shaven.  Then someone spoke to him.

            "Hello, Christopher." that was his Kangaroo friend, her voice was soft and gentle, "We need to talk a little.  We're worried about you.  We want to help you fix things.".

            "We do, and we think it would help if you found her.  We think you should talk to her and ask what we can do to fix it".  That was the voice of the wise owl that helped him think.

            "Oh, I don't know,  I don't know if you'll ever find her.".

            "SHUT UP!"  Chris snapped at his donkey,  "Owl is right.  We'll find her, and it'll be ok.  It'll be ok.".  "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell.  I'm sorry.  We're friends, and I'm sorry.  Please don't leave me.".  Chris sat, huddled between trash cans,  clutching his box,  softly pleading, "I'm sorry, please don't go.".

            Chris spent his time walking through the city.  He wasn't sure how far he walked or for how long, but he was sure of what he was doing.  He'd find her, in a window, or a doorway, maybe in a coffee shop, but he'd find her.  She was here, somewhere, and he'll find her.  He'll find her, and everything will be better.

            Chris found himself on an unfamiliar corner, and at some point, someone had given him a few dollars.  He wasn't sure why, asking wasn't usually in his habits, but he had 2 dollars in his hand.  Looking down the street he was a sign, Teddy's Diner.

            Chris walked into Teddy's Diner and sat at a table at the window and sat his box next to him, against the wall, it wouldn't get lost there.  He just stared out the window, he didn't want to miss seeing her going by, he was sure, he'd see her, if he just kept looking.

            Margaret looked over the counter to see another 'down on his luck' fellow.  She'd seen a lot of them in her days, she knew that most of them just needed a little help to get going again.  She'd seen a lot of things in this diner.  She saw a guy propose to a pretty girl at that same table.  She'd watched 2 guys stop a robbery at the table over there and she carried a lot of omelets and scrambled eggs.  She grabbed her order pad and pen and stepped over to the table by the window.

            "Hi Hun,  my name is Marjorie, what can I get for you?".  Chris jerked his head around and saw her, he saw her bronze skin and wavy jet black hair, she was here!  His face light up!  He had so many questions.  Where did she go?  Why did she go?  Did she know that he needed her?  He didn't know where to start.  He didn't know what to say.

            "Are you ok, Hun?" Margaret asked, she'd seen this before too.  She looked down at the fellow at her table, he looked like he needed more than a little help.  He had a ratty beard down touching his chest and he looked like he hadn't eaten recently, he was skinny and gaunt and more than a bit on the dirty side.  She could see that he wasn't ok.

            Chris sat there, dumbstruck, with his heart in his eyes.

            "Sweetie, I'm Margaret, what can I get you?", Margaret was a little concerned, but she hid it, she knew how to do that, she'd seen a lot in her time.

            The light in Chris's eyes died.  His chest hurt again.  All over again.  Like the first time.  Like when she left.  He could barely get the words out.  Everything hurt again, it hurt.  "I'm sorry, I misunderstood.  I'd like to get something to eat.".  Chris reached into his jacket pocket and produced his few dollars.  "What can I have for this?".  His voice was tiny.

            "I think that'll be plenty, Hun.  Now, what sort of breakfast do you want?  Omelet, pancakes, hash browns, coffee?"

            "I... I don't"

            "Why don't you just let me take care of it; let's say ham & cheese."  A few minutes later, Margaret arrived at that window table with what seemed to be a feast.  She brought a ham & cheese omelet along with a short stack of pancakes, piles of home fries, buttered sourdough toast, crispy bacon & sausage and a cup of java.  She'd even spent the effort to brew fresh coffee and warm up the syrup.  Sometimes, when you help someone, you need to go all the way.

            Christopher Robin sat and ate a breakfast worthy of kings.  He ate, and drank coffee, and ate some more and drank more coffee.  He felt right again, like he was his old self, like he was ready to head off to work at the Milne firm.  After filling himself up, he stood and moved toward Margaret and offered his few dollars. "No darlin', not for you, not today.  Sometimes, you need a lucky day, today is yours.".  She explained that Teddy's Diner did this sometimes; that they picked out a random customer and their breakfast was on the house.  She said it helped to encourage repeat business.  Margret grinned at him.  She knew that it was hard for a people to take help, so when this sort of thing came up, she called it a 'Lucky day' and said it was a diner thing.  She knew, that if they knew, that she'd taken it out of her tips, they wouldn't accept it.  Margaret knew that they didn't need to know, not today, but she also noticed that, that scruffy fellow had left his box in the booth.  She decided to leave it where it was.  If he came back, and might be agitated, it might be better for it to be where it was.

            Sometime later, Xavier and Abby happened upon Teddy's Diner, they were on a first date.  They strolled in and sat in a booth by the window.  They'd met through mutual friends and decided that that maybe they'd spend some time talking and walking through the park together.  They sat down to a red and white checkered table clothed booth by the window with a window view.  They sat chatting and drinking coffee.

            They'd quickly decided that talking about mutual friends, wasn't a good way to get to know each other, so they started to discuss mutual interests.  They both liked sports, old Kung-Fu movies and agreed that muffins were far better than bagels.  They also shared how their families weren't exactly conventional but they kept adding family based on love, not blood.  Abby noticed on the wooden box and asked their waitress about it.

            "Those have been there a while.  A fella left them here a few days ago and I decided leave them there, in case he came back, but I don't think he's gonna. Let me get them out of them out of your way.".

            "That's ok." Abby said, opening the box.  It was filled with stuffed animals.  There was a bear and a tiger and some others.  She looked across the table, "Rawr!  I'm snuggle bear!"  Abby played with the stuffed little beast, making it 'speak' to her companion; she even invented a high pitched voice for it.  "What do you think?", holding it up.  "Wanna take some stuffy's down to the children's home?  Some little kid might need a huggy bear.".

            Xavier chuckled, and readily agreed to stop, "Margaret!, bring some honey for our new bear pal here. He's going to make some new friends today.".

            Chris wandered through the park, again.  It was what he did now, she'd walk by and he'd see her; they would fix everything.  This time though, it was different, his friends didn't talk to him anymore.  He'd started to call to them.  "Where are you?  I thought we were friends.".  The local authorities had several complaints about him.  He'd been accosting people in the park, some alone, some with other people, but it was always the same thing.  "Have you seen my friends?  I need to find my friends.".  Eventually, the local police took him into custody, with a gentle judge ordering that he needed to spend some time resting before anything else could go forward.

            Chris found himself in a warm room, but he felt alone.  He knew that he shouldn't be alone,  he knew he had friends.  All he needed to do was to get their attention and they'd come help him.  "BEAR!  TIGER!, RABBIT!... MARJORIE!!"

            "I'm not sure about this fella.  I don't know he'll ever find who he's looking for".  That was Bradley, the orderly.  He looked on that scruffy guy with the long ratty beard.  For days, he did what he always did, yell himself out, cry, and fall asleep.

            In another time and another city, in a group home for children, a little girl opened wooden box.  "Hello Charlotte, would you like to be friends?".


End file.
